


The Space Erases The Noise

by YouRunWithTheWolves



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Derek, Character Study, Established Relationship, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 13:36:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouRunWithTheWolves/pseuds/YouRunWithTheWolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have sex. The end.</p><p> <em>Before his fingers make contact with his skin, Stiles catches them in mid air and pushes them away.</em><br/><em>“Nuh-uh” he smiles. An easy smile. So easy. Always so easy for Stiles. “Your turn.”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Space Erases The Noise

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Being Found](https://archiveofourown.org/works/555239) by [Dira Sudis (dsudis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis). 



> I don't know how to rate this I'm sorry. I don't think this is explicit, honestly. I tried to write smut and I ended up with this cause I'm shy. Ugh. Unbeta'd, I'll edit my mistakes everytime I find a new one (I've edited this five times already, how do I miss them?), ignore them in the meantime, I apologize.  
> Derek does not speak in this, cause my favorite smut fic ever features a very silent Derek and I loved it. (Linked above)
> 
> Title comes from the ending lines of Les Djinns, a poem by Victor Hugo (translated into English).

“Okay?”

Derek says nothing, and lets himself be pushed toward the bed. The back of his knees hits the edge of the mattress and he tumbles down on it. Stiles doesn't climb over him immediately. He stands there for a few seconds, just--looking. Watching. Derek feels uncomfortable being the object of such intense scrutiny and he looks away, staring at the wall next to the bed, waiting for Stiles to make the next move.

He finally feels the mattress dip under the weight of Stiles's body, and when he tears his eyes away from the stupid wall, Stiles is kneeling next to him. When he is sure he has Derek's attention again, he scrambles up the bed and leans on his elbows.

“C'mere,” he tells him.

So Derek mirrors his movements and ends up lying down next to him. Without waiting another second, Stiles straddles his thighs and lets his hands wander on his chest. Derek almost makes a choking sound of surprise, but he catches himself at the last moment. Stiles smiles anyway so he knows he must look a little bit stunned. He leans down and Derek closes his eyes reflexively, his lips already open, parted to receive his kiss.

Derek's breathing accelerates and he wonders how it is even possible for his body to welcome Stiles like he just belongs, like they've done this a million times. They haven't done this a million times. He wonders how he even got there, on an eighteen-year-old's bed, at four in the morning. He wonders when he lost control of-- _this_ , exactly. He wonders when one of them will come to their senses. He wonders who will pull away first. He wonders why. Wonders who will hurt more.

Somehow in the process, Derek has parted his knees a little, somehow in the process, Stiles has slipped on his side a bit, and somehow in the process, they find their legs tangled. Like everything that occurs with Stiles, Derek has no idea how it happened and how to stop it. His heart-rate falls back into an easy rhythm, following the slow pace Stiles seems to have going. He sighs helplessly against his mouth, and Stiles rewards him with another gentle swipe of tongue.

He answers with a unguarded moan, and Stiles tenses a little. Derek feels his own pulse perk up again, and even if doesn't need it to know, he presses the palm of his hand flat against Stiles's heart. It pounds like a war drum and he's not sure he's ready for this fight.

The hand that has been resting innocently on Derek's hip for some time now seems to grow a mind of its own. Stiles's expression doesn't change, but his hand snakes up under his shirt, and Derek can't help but recoil reflexively, his muscles shifting under the cold fingers that aren't his own. Stiles straightens up a bit and drags his hand out of under the shirt. Derek doesn't reach out to keep him there, but he misses the touch and he wants more. He doesn't know what to say. Maybe there's nothing to say.

Stiles pulls back entirely and takes off his shirt smoothly, discards it somewhere on the floor. This time, Derek does reach out, because he's afraid Stiles will misinterpret his silence and abandon him. Before his fingers make contact with his skin, Stiles catches them in mid air and pushes them away.

“Nuh-uh,” he smiles. An easy smile. So easy. Always so easy for Stiles. “Your turn.”

Derek straightens up to be at Stiles's eye level and waits. Stiles waits too. After a few seconds, he huffs and mumbles, “Alright, I'll do it, then.” He pulls Derek's shirt over his head and when he throws it beside the bed, it lands on his own.

They fall back on the bed, and everything is worse, everything is better. There is more skin, so Derek's hands explore. Slide up and down his spine. Stiles gasps and rolls his hips down against Derek's, instinctively, arching into the touch. Everything is worse, everything is better, and Derek knows he's done for when he silently counts the moles he can feel under his fingers.

He finds himself chasing the taste of his lips and tongue whenever Stiles pulls away with sharp intakes of breath. He smiles a lot, and laughs a little, and Derek swallows every sound he makes, stores them away for later.

“Okay, okay,” Stiles says shakily, “Is this –?”

And his hand his already unbuckling his belt. Derek says nothing. So Stiles shimmies out of his jeans. “Alright, no talking. Okay. This is gonna make it more difficult for me,” he tells him. Slowly, he pops the buttons of Derek's pants. Derek lifts his hips a little to help him get them off. He grins a little hungrily and Derek averts his eyes. Whoever thinks Stiles is not dangerous is clearly and sorely mistaken.

Stiles kisses his neck lazily, before licking his way across his chest, all the way down to his hips. Derek feels extremely exposed and cold and misses the way Stiles was draped over him. Stiles continues his merciless torture, kissing Derek's skin too far away but so close. He finally hooks his fingers under the rubber band of his boxers and tugs them down a little. Derek hisses and his brain gives two different orders to his body. Run away. Push into the touch. Derek doesn't know anymore, so he freezes.

“It's alright,” Stiles whispers, his breath sliding over Derek's sensitive skin. Goosebumps.

A few seconds later, they're both totally naked, and Stiles is barely touching him, his fingers hover over his flesh, so, so close. Close enough that Derek almost believes he can feel it. His breathing is now erratic and he expect Stiles to touch him any second now, any second. The fingers ghost over his inner thigh, and Derek trembles. Any second now. His body tenses and relaxes reflexively when he thinks his hand will make contact. Any second now.

Derek closes his eyes, because this is too much. The second everything turns black, electricity shoots through his nerves when he feels Stiles finally drag his fingernails gently across his stomach, and down, down. He can't help the high pitched moan that leaves his mouth, and all the others that tumble out of his throat when Stiles's fingers are replaced by his tongue.

He clutches the sheets and keeps his eyes shut. Stiles makes obscene noises, and licks up his length. It's not enough, and he teases. Derek groans, frustrated, and Stiles laughs.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles when he comes back up to nose at the hollow of Derek's neck. “It's just--you look...” and he never finishes that sentence.

He sighs unevenly, obviously trying to regain some composure, and Derek strokes his nape for comfort, because he still doesn't know what to say, and he still hopes Stiles understands. He hums a little and angles his head so that Derek will scratch him at the right place, like a cat. He finally opens his eyes, and he finds him looking intently at him. The sun is barely rising, and gives a pale bluish glow to everything. He wants to close his eyes again because this is probably getting too real. Stiles is asking for permission.

He's asking if he's allowed to break in and wreck everything, to vandalize and tear everything down, everything holding Derek's life together. Every part of him has fallen to pieces--to ashes, even a simple light wind will make his foundations creak, threatening to collapse on themselves. Everything is half burned down--only one half, though. The other half isn't charred. Derek's insides have been shaky, wobbly, barely standing. And Stiles is no playful wind, he's a fucking hurricane. Stiles wants to make room for something new. But he doesn't know, does he, he doesn't know he's done it already. He doesn't know there's nothing left of Derek anymore. Only the good half, only the half that didn't die in a fire.

So Derek traces Stiles's jaw with his finger until his hand goes down again to press against his heart. It stays there. He watches his whiskey colored eyes grow darker, darker.

“I'll take that as a 'yes, you fucking moron, just ravish me', judging by your eyebrows at the moment,” he finally breathes out. Derek rolls his eyes.“Just--stop me if--just tell me alright?” Stiles goes on, a little less jokingly.

Derek nods, and kisses him again, it's a little more heated, and it speaks a thousand languages that all translate to the same thing, with every swipe of tongue he can feel Stiles's intent. And maybe Derek is wrong, maybe Stiles knows what he's done to him already. He's not sure if he should be horrified or pleased he knows him so well. Stiles kisses his way down his chest again, faster this time. Everytime he lifts his mouth to kiss another spot, his saliva catches the coolness of the room and makes the small kissed patches of skin grow colder. Derek feels like Stiles piercing holes into him. With every kiss, Derek deflates and it relieves the pressure in his lungs, and he breathes more easily.

Stiles swallows him down slowly, and it's torturous. He slings an arm across his face in a feeble attempt to collect himself and focuses on his breathing. It's not happening. He can hear all the little sounds Stiles makes as he licks and sucks and the silence around them makes everything resonate like a gunshot. Derek is already shaking and the little moans that escape his throat are pathetic. He hates them. They make him sound like he's in pain. Derek forgets the time. Stiles's mouth is replaced by his hand, stroking slowly, as he reaches out for something under the bed. Derek hears the tell-tale sound of a bottle cap being popped open.

“Kay, this is not the most romantic part, but uh, I'll try to make it good alright?” Derek nods. Stiles adds “I mean, I won't try. I _will_ make it good.” Derek nods again, and smiles. Stiles smiles back, a little surprised.

Stiles warms up the lube with his fingers and takes his time. Derek flinches every now and then, when he feels Stiles's finger align itself with him, but Stiles is in no hurry. Soon, Derek lets his guard down, closes his eyes and relaxes. His attention zeroes on Stiles's heartbeat, and when it finally accelerates, he opens his eyes, and feels Stiles inside of him. It doesn't hurt, it's extremely uncomfortable. He closes his eyes again and decides that he's come this far, so he'll just trust Stiles on this. Stiles opens him up while kissing every inch of skin he can reach. It makes everything better. More lube, a second finger. It hurts a bit, but the sensation dies away quickly when Stiles twists his finger tentatively and Derek opens his eyes with a start.

He's not sure he likes it and yet he would give everything for it to never stop. Maybe there's something seriously wrong with him. Stiles is getting a bit restless, and Derek strokes the back of his head to tell him he's alright. The coolness of the room disappears quickly, and the moans come back in his throat, his skin heats up and if Stiles goes on like this, he's going to boil from the inside. He gasps for air as pleasure shoots through his body in all directions, slowly and inexorably making its way under his skin. It's spinning out of control. Like a spilled glass of water, it's already leaking and seeping in through the cracks, and there's nothing to be done, for how do you pick up water off the floor with your bare hands?

With the third finger, Derek starts to unwillingly undulate his body against Stiles. They look at each other, and Stiles thrusts and twists deeper. Derek claps his mouth shut and forgets to breathe. When he remembers how to exhale, his breath comes out uneven and rough. Stiles must decides it's a good thing, because he takes his fingers out and slicks himself up. Derek drinks him in, the sight of him on his knees in front of his open legs, his eyes fluttering shut while he strokes himself up and down slowly, inhaling deep and slow like he's about to hold his breath for a long time.  
He finally crowds Derek back on the mattress and wraps himself over him. Derek sigh with relief as he feels the warmth of his body mix up with the coolness of Stiles's limbs. They kiss, and when Derek is distracted and forgets where he is, Stiles aligns himself with him and presses in. Stiles does not get distracted this time, the fucker, always so easy for Stiles.

Derek kisses him deeper, because this is okay, he wants more, and he doesn't know how to say it, so he groans and hopes for the best. Stiles laughs and says “Okay.”

Always so easy for Stiles to understand unspoken demands. He presses a little further, and it hurts, so Derek screws his eyes shut and Stiles peppers kisses on his neck and when he hears the little surprised gasp he makes after a while, Derek knows he bottomed out. It still hurts, but he got used to it. So he opens his eyes, and Stiles keeps repeating, “Okay, okay, okay.”

He starts moving, rolling his hips shallowly and Derek grits his teeth because it doesn't hurt the same. It's strange; his brain is confused so his body takes over and he wraps his hand around Stile's ass, pushes him inside a little more before he understands his own gesture. He instinctively seeks friction, and the little raspy breaths rolling out of Stiles's lips are addictive, and he knows he wants more of these, so he rolls his hips up to meet Stiles's thrusts. Before he knows it, he doesn't have to ignore the pain anymore. He doesn't have to pretend because when he looks for it, the pain has mutated into this incredible wave of need and Derek clings harder as it washes over him.

He is so surprised by how good it feels that he grips both of Stiles's arms, and holds so tight the tips of his fingers turn white. He wants to say “holy shit, oh my God, fuck”, but it comes out in the form of three little keening sounds and Stiles's cheeks are all flushed. He looks at him dead in the eyes and says, “I know, I know,” because of course he knows. Fucking Stiles, always three steps ahead, always so easy for Stiles. He lets go of Stiles's arms and reels him in a bruising kiss that soon becomes more an exchange of breath and moans than anything else.

Soon, they press into each other with tensed muscles, rolling hips, contracted thighs, and damp skin. Derek is sure he's going to burst into flames with every new thrust. He clenches every muscle in his body every now and then, when it's too much, and Stiles gasps and picks up the pace. Derek scratches his back, he doesn't know why, he needs to cling onto something and he's not sorry if tomorrow Stiles's shoulders will show angry, red and pink marks where his nails scrapped the skin.

Stiles is talking now, he can hear the click of his throat as he tries to swallow to make himself understood when he says, “Derek, Derek, Derek,” like a prayer, or some shit like that. Stiles hides his face in the crook of his neck, and they're both out of breath. Derek is ashamed, he's done more physical things than that, he can run several miles without breaking a sweat, and Stiles... Stiles reduces him to a heap of shuddering breaths and burning lungs and clammy hands, it's almost sad.

Without looking, Stiles snakes a hand between them, around Derek, and drags his hand up and down faster than before, and Derek's vision blurs a little. It's too much again, so his whole body tenses up once more, and that does it. The air he gathered in his lungs is punched out of him and he comes hard. Stiles whispers swear words in his ear and fucks him through it. When his body is about to go limp and boneless, he makes a whining sound, finally relieved but wanting to cling to the last spark of pleasure for as long as he can.

It's Stiles's turn to fall over the edge, and he releases a loud groan against his neck before biting down lightly. And Derek is okay.

His whole body aches when Stiles finally flops down next to him, and neither of them wants to move for a few minutes. They wait until they can hear something else beside the buzzing sound of their blood rushing in their ears, beside their dry and shallow breaths. Stiles finally grunts and sits up on the bed to hastily clean them up with some tissues before flopping back down with a sigh. Derek rolls over on his stomach and wants to sleep forever. He throws an arm over Stiles.

“Well that was--,” Stiles says.

  
Derek drags his nails against his shoulder, and down along his arm, smiles when he feels the shivers against his touch. “Yeah, I agree, we should do this again soon, Jesus,” Stiles says again as if continuing a conversation they've been having.

He shimmies closer to Derek and they fall asleep with their hearts synchronizing into the same rhythm.

Derek is more than okay.

**Author's Note:**

> You could come teach me how to write porn on [tumblr](http://yourunwiththewolves.tumblr.com) if you were so inclined.


End file.
